


talks in tongues and quiet sighs

by segmentcalled



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anxiety, Aromantic Character, Bad Flirting, Bruises, Communication, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Implicit Worldbuilding, Implied/Referenced Pregnancy (past), Kink Negotiation, Knotting, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Morning After, Multi, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Platonic Relationships, Polyamory Negotiations, Queerplatonic Relationships, Relationship Study, showering together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:52:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22946875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/segmentcalled/pseuds/segmentcalled
Summary: A collection of tales.Contains a night of interrupted research, an E3 experience, a nearly-perfect morning-after, a much-less-perfect morning-after, and a flirting disaster.
Relationships: Brian David Gilbert/Patrick Gill, Justin McElroy/Sydnee McElroy, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Patrick Gill/Griffin McElroy, Russ Frushtick/Christopher Plante, Simone de Rochefort & Jenna Stoeber, Simone de Rochefort/Jenna Stoeber
Comments: 36
Kudos: 41





	1. all the blood and guts inside us

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [take it from the top](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22886254) by Anonymous. 

> inspired by a fic that i definitely didnt write nope wasnt me For Sure
> 
> in order, the chapters will be:  
justin/sydnee, russ/chris, simone/jenna, brian/pat, pat/griffin  

> 
> fic title from [all this and heaven too](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gs5KqERhqZ0) by florence + the machine  
chapter title from [medicines](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OKsoB1pe880) by the taxpayers
> 
> beta'd by justtheplanets !!

“You’re going to fall off your chair if you try and cuddle me any more than this,” Sydnee says, a smile in her voice as she runs her fingers through Justin’s hair.

“It’s the only way I can get through researching,” Justin says. He can practically feel Syd roll her eyes, even as she kisses his head.

“Good thing you’re not the doctor here. We’d never have gotten this far in the podcast,” Sydnee teases, and Justin huffs out a sigh, pretending to be affronted. “At least scoot your chair over so your whole butt’s on it, will you?”

“What, you don’t want half-assed participation?”

Sydnee groans, and Justin laughs as he obliges her, and settles more comfortably with his arm around her. This time she’s the one to lean into him, pressed hip-to-hip in their now-adjacent chairs, warm and sweet-smelling and perfect. He loves her more than anything, knows every inch of her as she knows him in return; to him, she is home, and there’s nowhere that feels safer than this. He thinks he’d be okay anywhere, as long as they were together.

Justin burrows his face against her as she reads. She absentmindedly continues to stroke his hair, absorbed in what’s on her screen, until she squeaks in surprise when Justin licks the side of her neck.

“Hey!”

“You smell like shampoo and not like me,” he mumbles into her skin, and she laughs as he continues to lave her with kisses and soft little licks, maybe ticklish, but so affectionate.

“If there’s anyone in the world who doesn’t already know I’m bonded to you, I’ll be surprised,” she says. Justin simply hums in response and kisses her one last time, then lowers his head to rest his cheek on her shoulder, no matter how hunched-over he has to be. She wraps her arm around his back and hugs him tight. “You’re awful cuddly tonight. Something up?”

“Nah. Just like being with you. And I’m fuckin’ glad the kids are both asleep for once.”

Sydnee snorts. “Don’t jinx it. Anyway, I thought you were gonna help with the research?”

“My research is as follows: uh, am an omega, will answer questions about subjective experience.”

“Helpful.”

“I do my best.”

“You sure something’s not up? You’re awful handsy.”

“No, I took my suppressants, I’m totally good.”

Sydnee taps the laptop screen, and Justin looks where she’s pointing.

> _Even with suppressants, an Omega’s sex drive may be higher than usual during heat. They may experience other heat-like symptoms, including but not limited to: inclination towards physical touch; sensitivity to sensory input, especially scents; and slightly raised body temperature._

  
“Alright, call me out, then,” Justin grumbles, and she laughs. “I’m fine, Syd, honest. I just wanna be close.”

“Okay, honey,” she says, and squeezes him tighter. “Will you help me with this, or do you just want to hold me while I work?”

“I’ll help,” Justin says. “What can I do?”

“Right now I’m just taking notes,” she says, indicating the text document that she has up on half the screen. “I don’t know how much you’re interested in sharing on the show?”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Justin says. “I mean, we toured with _MBMBAM_ while we were expecting Cooper, it’s not like it’s some big secret. If people are weird, it won’t be the first thing I’ve had people get weird at me about.” He rolls his eyes. “So have at me.”

“God, I’m mad at how good you smell. You sure you took your suppressants?”

“I’m three hundred percent sure I did. I fuckin’ — marked it off in my app and everything. And I’m not horny as fuck.”

She raises her eyebrows.

“...more than normal, anyway,” he amends. She throws her head back and laughs, and, fuck, he can’t resist winding a hand into her hair and putting his mouth on her neck again, grazing his teeth over her throat, and she inhales sharply.

“I remembered why I don’t do research with you,” she mutters, even as her hand moves to cradle the back of his skull, to hold him there. “You’re a menace. A distraction. _Oh_, that’s nice, baby.”

They’ve had so few times like this, during this past few — god, it’s been months since they had a night like this, where they can organically come together, instead of planning and praying and still getting interrupted by crying kids, or being too tired to follow through, or any of the zillion other things that keep them from fooling around on a regular basis.

“Will you let me seduce you?” Justin says, barely more than a breath, and she shivers at his exhale against her skin.

“Yeah,” she sighs, “I can do the rest of this tomorrow.”

Justin laughs, and so does she, even as she runs her hands over her face in mostly-feigned embarrassment.

“Have I mentioned how _nice_ it is to not have to worry about pregnancy anymore,” she says, as Justin stands and offers her his hand. She takes it, and hooks her arm through his.

“God, you’re preachin’ to the choir, Syd. We already have so _many_ kids,” he says, and she snickers.

“All two of ‘em.”

“Exactly,” he says, closing the bedroom door behind them. “That’s plenty. I’m not doing that again.”

“I know, baby,” she croons, and leans in for a kiss that feels like it was intended to be a peck, but both of them get carried away and don’t break apart until they’re both breathing a little heavy and Syd’s hands are fumbling with the buttons of Justin’s shirt.

It’s so sweet, so familiar, to strip and guide each other to the bed, to make out like there’s no tomorrow, for Sydnee to nudge his legs apart, for him to moan low and needy as she sinks into him, as she rocks her hips slowly as he lets her in, until they’re pressed flush together and panting.

“Can I knot you,” she whispers. They rarely do that, not with two kids who don’t always sleep through the night. Most of the time when they fuck, if she knots, it's with his hand or her hand wrapped around it, the rest of her buried inside him up 'til there, but leaving them able to stop and move apart easily if interrupted. But he’s selfish tonight, he _wants_, and when he whispers a _yes_ she swears under her breath and rolls her hips again, like she can’t even help it. “Oh, it’s been so _long_.”

Justin intends to reply, but it comes out as a moan instead as she tilts her head to bite his neck. “_Fuck_, Syd,” he gasps, and he feels her grin.

“I could leave a big ugly bite mark on you and no one would know the difference ‘cause you work from home.”

“And — and make me go grocery shopping w-with — with your teeth on my neck?”

“Wear a scarf,” she says dismissively. She fucks her hips forward hard, twists a hand into his hair, and follows through with her idea.

Justin shoves his knuckles against his mouth to keep from making the sound he wants to make, to keep himself quiet, and so all that comes out is a muffled _fuck, Sydnee, please_.

“Almost forgot how good you can be,” she murmurs, kissing over the undoubtedly angry-looking bruise she’s left. Syd can give a _mean_ hickey, one that will have Justin ducking into scarves for days, and if he’s being completely honest, he loves it, loves to have her marks on him, a physical reminder of how he belongs to her. “You want my knot, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” he gasps, “yes, so bad, please give it to me, I want you. Need you.”

Syd hums, pleased, and kisses him. He could kiss her for _ever_, if she’d let him. Call him romantic, or whatever, but every second he has with her, every moment that they’re touching, feels important, feels wonderful, feels just as good as the first time they fell into each other’s arms.

Justin digs his heels into the bed and curses under his breath as he feels her knot swell inside him, the familiar stretch that sends his thoughts right out of his head, where all he can do is writhe under her as she kisses at him soothingly, her lips pressing lightly to his mouth and cheeks and forehead and neck and chin and shoulders, anywhere she can touch. It’s _good_, especially after so long without, molten heat already coursing through him.

“You’re so responsive,” she murmurs. “Been wanting me that bad, huh?”

“Uh, _yeah_, Syd,” he says. She laughs, until Justin rolls his hips up hard to take her fully inside him, before her knot swells too thick for her to get back in, and her laughter chokes off into a moan. Justin pulls her in to get their mouths together as he twitches around her, panting short breaths against her as he adjusts to the sensation. “Shit, you feel amazing.”

“I wish I could make you be as loud as I know you can be,” she says, drawing her fingertip in a circle around his nipple. “You sound so good when you’re begging for me.”

“_Christ_.”

She slides her hands down to his hips, holding him tight as she grinds deep inside him. “Remember your last heat? How I kept you stuck on my knot for hours? You look amazing when you’re all fucked out like that, sweetheart.”

“You made me — oh _god_ — made me feel so good, you always do, so good to me, baby,” Justin pants, clinging tight to her as her knot finally stops swelling, dizzyingly full, and, god, he’d do a _lot_ of things to get another heat alone with her like that. Even this, though, is remarkable; to have her touch him and hold him and fuck him is a more than welcome change of pace in their day-to-day.

“I’d draw this out a whole heat’s length if I could,” she says, lightly dragging her fingernails down his sides, just ticklish enough to make him squirm, and then gasp as that changes the angle they’re at to each other. “But I think we’re — I think we’re gonna have to do this quick and dirty, to be on the safe side, yeah?”

“Yeah, fuck, whatever you want,” Justin says, and she kisses the corner of his mouth, smiling.

“Maybe I should’ve got you facedown,” Sydnee muses, “so you wouldn’t have to work so hard not to scream.”

“Just put your hand over my mouth,” Justin says, and Syd laughs.

“Will do, baby,” she purrs, carefully resettling herself into a more comfortable position. She skitters her fingernails up the back of Justin’s thighs and he hisses out a slow breath so he doesn’t fuckin’ squeak, except then he fully goddamn squeals when she pinches his ass. She shushes him and rolls her hips forward hard. Justin’s eyes flutter shut; he drops his head back as he arches his back into the motion, and lets her _take_ him.

* * *

They’re curled up together in the afterglow, barely even having moved yet, before their attention is inevitably demanded by a crying baby. Sydnee kisses Justin’s nose before he even musters the brainpower to react.

“You stay put,” she tells him, and is out of bed pulling on clothes while his sluggish brain is still processing that. She laughs at the look on his face. “Get that mind of yours back online, I’ll be back.”

So Justin snuggles deeper into the bedding as Syd slips out of the bedroom. He’s cozy — admittedly less so without her arms around him — and content, the comfortable familiar feeling of being well-fucked with her come inside him is… it’s good. He feels satiated in the way he might after a heat, but without the frantic desperation before nor the bone-deep exhaustion after. He’d switched suppressants after having Cooper, because the ones he’d been taking before prevented pregnancy and that’s no longer a going concern, so damn, if ‘tis the season and he gets to feel this good about being fucked but isn’t burning up for needing more? O-_kay_, he’s good with that.

He’s halfway to drifting off when he feels Syd’s hand on his arm.

“Sweetie, we need to get you cleaned up before you sleep,” she says. Justin groans, but she doesn’t field his complaint, and tugs at his arm until he sits up. He sucks in a breath at the feeling of Syd’s come leaving him — thank fuck one of them had the foresight to have a goddamn towel — and then allows himself to be pulled to his feet.

Sydnee leans up to kiss his cheek. “You’re so beautiful like this,” she says softly. “And always. But especially when I’ve worn you out on my knot and you’re all sleepy and sweet.”

Justin shakes his head at her, disbelieving at her casually devastating lines, and she just prods at his back to get him to move.

“I’m right. You’re perfect,” she says, steering him to the shower. He makes grabby hands at her until she sighs and pulls off her shirt, steps out of her pants, and joins him under the spray. He wraps his arms around her, and she pulls him close, just holding each other.

“Do you want anything else, baby?” she murmurs against his shoulder.

“No, ‘m good. I’m too old to come again,” he half-jokes, and she rolls her eyes, smiling.

“Let’s get ourselves ready for bed, then. It’s late.”

Sydnee lays down at Justin’s back, her arm wrapped around him, her lips pressed to the back of his neck. Justin wouldn’t say he’s often the little spoon, and it brings vividly to mind the months just before Charlie, before Cooper, when Syd would press herself against him to touch him wherever he’d let her. Maybe she’s thinking fondly of that, too.

He puts his hand on top of hers, and she sighs, nuzzling her face against him. “I love you,” she says.

“I love you too,” he says back, laughter in his voice as she slings her leg over his. “You’re cuddly tonight.”

“Maybe we’re in snuggle-heat.”

“Is that a thing?”

“We could make it one,” she says; he can hear her smiling.

“Oh shit, better call off for the week, I can’t do anything but cuddle up with my wife.”

“Good. As it should be.” Syd’s always more affectionate when she’s sleepy — not that she isn’t ordinarily — but it is so nice to have her warm and close and whispering sweet things to him, her guard down. “You doing okay?”

“Mmhmm,” Justin says, pressing back closer to her. “You?”

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“‘Bout what?”

“Coop ‘n Charlie. The _Sawbones_ episode. Y’know. Normal stuff.” A pause. “Are you sure you’re comfortable talking about omega things on the podcast?”

“‘Course I am, Sydster. I wouldn’t bullshit you like that. Are you — what are you worried about?”

“It’s just that you haven’t mentioned it before, that’s all. On a podcast, I mean. You’ve always been really careful about your language and I’ve followed your lead on that.”

“Oh,” Justin says. “Hm. I wasn’t — I wasn’t doing that intentionally? And it’s not like I hid it face-to-face.”

“Sorry. I think I’m making a bigger deal out of this than it needs to be.”

Justin starts to turn over, to look at her, but she flattens her hand against his belly, holding him still so he stays put. “It’s sweet that you’re worried, but I don’t — I mean, if someone’s got problems, they can fuck _off_. Besides, it’s not like my whole role on _Sawbones_ isn’t the most fuckin’ omega-ass shit.” She scoffs, but he elaborates: “Ooh, my perfect beautiful brilliant alpha, please impart upon me your knowledge most wise!”

“You do _not_ sound like that.”

“Uh, what are you talking about, of course I do!”

“If you sounded like that you would make about five hundred percent less dick jokes on air.”

“Unlikely. I contain multitudes.”

There’s another lull in conversation, until Justin thinks that it’s probably sleepy time, but Sydnee speaks again in a soft voice. “What’s it like?”

“What’s what like? Containing multitudes? Is that what pregnancy is?”

“_Justin_.”

“What! I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I dunno,” she hedges. He waits. “I guess researching has just got me thinking, like, how things are different between our, uh, our subjective experiences. With sexuality and society and everything else.”

“In what way?”

“Like, I guess, how sometimes people will assume I speak for the both of us, or the way people acted towards you when we were expecting, and, god, heats of course, I can’t imagine how it must feel to just launch into that with no _warning_.”

“I mean, there’s warnings. It’s pretty consistent. And those other things are just bullshit.”

“Still. It doesn’t happen to me except in sympathy with you, which means I know exactly when it’s gonna start, because I consent to it.”

Justin shrugs as best he can laying down. “It’s alright, Syd. It’s not like I’ve had a lot of them, even. I can’t fuckin’ imagine what it was like before suppressants.”

“Bad,” Sydnee says.

“Is that what you’ve been researching?”

“Yeah. Things were… things were really different for omegas.”

“This episode’s gonna depress the shit out of me, huh.”

“Don’t you say that every week?”

“Not every week.”

Sydnee laughs and hugs him tighter. “I’m just glad you’re mine. Which, god, which sounds —”

“Which sounds _wonderful_, because I’m glad you’re mine right back. I don’t care if you say shit like that to me. I _like_ it when you say shit like that to me. I like to be yours, and I like that you’re mine, too. I’ve never worried that you’d be weird about anything, because you’re a good fuckin’ person and you’re too kind to consciously, like, perpetuate shit. I love you, and you make me happy, and I know I can count on you to have my back whenever I need it.”

“I love you,” Sydnee sighs.

“Needed a reality check, baby?”

“Maybe a little.”

“C’mere. Can I kiss you?”

She lets him turn over this time, and he cups her face in his hands and kisses her slow and sweet, and kisses her again, and again and again and again, because he could melt against her, could kiss her until his lips stopped working, could stay just like this until the end of time. She kisses him back much the same, like she knows how he feels — and better than that, like she feels the same way too.

“Do you regret that we can’t have more kids?” she asks quietly, against his lips.

“Wow, damn, the big questions tonight!” Justin says. “But no. We’ve got plenty.” He pauses. “Why, do you regret it?”

“No,” she says, quickly but firmly. “I think it’s the best choice for us. I just — you know, I worry.”

“Me too,” Justin says, and kisses her, just once. “But I’m so happy with our family. I couldn’t ask for a better spouse, or more amazing kids. I don’t need more to be happier. Also, being pregnant sucks shit.”

Sydnee snorts. “Yeah, okay, tell that to your past self who wanted to fuck every dang night.”

“Look, it being a _thing_ and it sucking are not mutually exclusive.”

“Okay, okay, fair enough.” She’s smiling, though, not aggravated, and she kisses the tip of his nose. “For what it’s worth. I’m happy too.”

“Good,” Justin says. “Syd, honey, if you weren’t happy, I’d do everything in my power to help change that. You mean the world to me, okay?”

“As do you to me. I promise there’s nothing bad going on. I’m doing really well, actually. I just get in my head, sometimes. You know how it is.”

“I do,” Justin says. “I really do. Thank you for talking to me, baby.”

“Thank you for listening.”

“Always. I love you so much, Sydster.”

“I love you too. Good night, Justin.”

“Night, sugar.”

The last thing he sees before he closes his eyes is her smile.

He doesn’t mean to go off on a tangent about anxiety when they’re recording; he _really_ doesn’t mean to talk about what things were like when they were expecting Charlie, how he’d simultaneously fallen into what turned out to be the worst of his anxiety disorder; how he had panic attacks over how he was spending his fucking _life minutes_ if he didn’t feel like he was doing enough at any given moment; that he spiraled into existential crises when he felt like he wasn’t doing something important with his time; that maybe there were parts of pregnancy that were okay, and even some that were enjoyable, but on the whole he spent most of the time ready for it to just be over with.

That even though he’s beat the subject half to death between their birth stories episodes and their mental health episode, he still finds himself choked up when thinking about that part of his life. That truly the only thing that kept him going most days was Sydnee. That they’re complementary, just like any partnership should be. On even footing. They hold each other up. That, in the end, it means they don’t have to go through life alone if they don’t want to. That no matter your persuasion, or who you’re in a relationship with… isn’t that what everyone’s looking for, at the core of it? Someone to understand you, someone to hold your hand through the dark nights?

If it’s been said once, it’s been said a thousand times, but there’s nothing fundamentally different between them. No more than she is Sydnee and he is Justin. Who sticks their junk where — (_“Justin!”_) — isn’t important. Shouldn’t be important.

Sydnee looks at him as he talks with open affection written across her face. Justin knows he’s one to go off at the end of an episode, to be indignant about injustice, to be needlessly profound, but he can’t help it. He wants the world to be better. Wants people to _understand_ these things.

He has a voice, and by god, he’s gonna use it to advocate for those who aren’t so lucky as to be heard.

When they turn the mics off, Sydnee climbs right into his lap and hugs him tight. They don’t say a word. The only sound in the room is their breathing, out-of-time with each other, but _alive_, and steady, and safe.

They stay that way for a long time, doing nothing but being present together.

Justin has to be the luckiest person alive, he’s sure of it.


	2. our guts can't be reworked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> help this fic doubled in length over the course of a day
> 
> chapter title from [rat a tat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WIPTUSr1tPA) by fall out boy
> 
> anyway i've been listening to a TON of old besties podcast episodes and these two have a great dynamic

“Are you guys seriously fucking shitting me right now?”

Chris reels back, his lips kiss-pink, breathing a little too hard, and grins at Justin with, just, the shakiest smile.

“Sorry, Justin,” Russ manages. Justin rolls his eyes and heaves the most exasperated sigh Russ has ever heard.

(This is a lie; Justin sighs at Russ like this with frequency.)

“You don’t even get heats, assholes!” Griffin chips in, as he approaches. “You’ve got no excuse for being horny on main!”

“Fuck off,” Russ grumbles. Griffin shakes his head, fully smirking at him, and claps Russ on the shoulder as he walks past.

“Pull yourselves together, come on,” Griffin says. “We’ve gotta get going.” He keeps walking without a glance back over his shoulder. Justin looks at Russ and Chris, then over at Griffin, and scrambles to catch up with his brother without another word.

“Sorry,” Russ says, abruptly alone with Chris again.

“Nah, don’t be,” Chris says. “It was nice. We’ve just got bad timing.” His lips are still curved into a smile, genuine as Russ could ever hope to see. “If we hurry, we might be able to sneak off and make out some more before we have to leave.”

“You drive a hard bargain!” Russ says, laughing, and Chris takes his hand.

Once they’ve piled everything into the back of the car they’re renting, Justin goes back inside to track down Griffin, who has disappeared again. Sometimes it really feels like it’s impossible to have the four of them in the same physical location for any length of time. Chris takes the opportunity to sidle right on up to Russ and pull him down to kiss him, slow and heated, so very different from making out frantically behind a pillar in the parking structure, even if they are still, admittedly, inside the parking structure.

“Oh, come _on_,” Griffin yells, at a distance.

Russ lifts a hand to flip him off, holding Chris closer as Chris laughs against his mouth.

“We’re sharing a room. We’ll have time later,” Chris murmurs.

“Good point,” Russ says back, and kisses him once more.

“You guys chose a real inconvenient time to hook up,” Justin says, as he and Griffin approach. “And by inconvenient, I mean very specifically inconvenient for me and Griffin, who have to _deal_ with you all week.”

“We didn’t _hook up_,” Russ says.

“What do you call this, then!”

Russ and Chris exchange a glance. “Kissing?” Russ says, still looking at Chris.

“Definitely kissing,” Chris says, cautiously. “Hooking up has other… implications, right?”

“Ugh, I don’t _care_, just get in the car,” Justin sighs, and so the two of them clamber into the backseat.

“How come Griffin gets shotgun? My legs are longer than his,” Russ says.

“You lost shotgun privileges by making out with Plante on a work trip,” Griffin says.

“Like you’ve never made out with someone at work, Griffin McElroy,” Russ says.

“That’s beside the point!”

“Oh, tell me you’re kidding,” Justin groans, starting the car. “Lie to me, if you must.”

“I’ve never ever kissed a single person during a work hour in my entire life,” Griffin says solemnly. Justin side-eyes him, and Griffin bats his eyelashes at him, as innocent as possible, which is not very.

“You guys are nuts,” Justin grumbles. “Fuckin’ self-control, Jesus.”

“Like you’ve never kissed Sydnee during work times before! Have neither of you ever visited each other during lunch?”

“One, that’s a lunch break, not work hours. Two, we’re married. Three, we’re not _making out_.”

“Whatever,” Russ says. When he stops glaring out the window petulantly and returns his gaze inside the car, Chris’s hand is resting between the two of them, like he’s waiting for Russ to notice, waiting for Russ to reach back and meet him.

When Russ reaches over and takes Chris’s hand in his, the smile he gets in return is so bright and so beautiful.

He can stand getting teased a little, for this.

They move around each other, cautious but constantly in orbit, as they help get everything into the Airbnb they’re staying in. Chris touches Russ’s hip lightly as he walks past him, and Russ swears he can feel the imaginary imprint of his hand for the next twenty minutes. They bump shoulders; they bump hips; Russ ruffles Chris’s hair; and once they bring in the last of the tech stuff they need, Chris catches Russ around the waist.

Justin politely pretends not to notice this time. Russ is thankful for him.

Everyone’s arrival times are haphazard; as they get the tech unpacked, their jetlagged coworkers straggle in. Tara and Simone were already there when the four of them arrived, but Pat and Brian and Allegra are soon to follow, with Clayton and Chelsea not long behind. It’s a full house, and with it comes a lot of noise and crowding, but the chaos feels like home to Russ after so long working here, after so long knowing these people that he not only calls his coworkers, but his friends.

Honestly, between everyone here and the people holding down the fort at home, he really feels like they’ve found a remarkable crew. That everyone here is someone he can truly be proud of. Even when Brian and Griffin and Simone are wailing off-key to Tara’s Spotify playlist, while Justin tries to talk her into putting Jimmy Buffett on instead, to Chelsea’s objection; even while Pat and Clayton are in the corner gossiping as Allegra tries to take a nap on the couch despite the utter cacophony around her; somehow, in the middle of all this, Russ feels right at home.

And when Chris sits too close to Russ while they’re eating greasy pizza off paper plates, almost snuggled up against him, everyone has the good goddamn grace not to say anything about it. Russ is grateful; he can handle teasing from Justin and Griffin, because they’re his best friends, but he’s worried that pressure from anyone else would send either Chris or himself skittering off in anxiety.

It’s not until they’re settling in for the night that the two of them talk about it for real. They look at each other as Russ closes the bedroom door behind them, simultaneously realizing that they have to do things like change into pajamas and decide where to sleep.

The latter is the sticking point. Chris gives a sheepish little smile, rubbing the back of his neck, and says, “What bed do you want?”

“I dunno,” Russ says. “Uh, the one by the window, I guess.” He hesitates; the silence hangs between them. “If you wanna share, you can, but there’s no pressure or anything. I sorta flail around while I’m sleeping, it’s a whole disaster, and it is kinda small —”

“I’m not a great bed-sharer for sleeping, so I’ll probably crash on the other bed, but if you want to — you know — hang out, we can do that.”

“Okay,” Russ says softly. “Can I change outta these clothes first?”

“Go for it. I’ll go, uh — I mean, unless —”

“Oh my god. Come here,” Russ says, and Chris crosses the room to him. Chris reaches up and cups Russ’s face in his hands, and pulls him down to kiss him.

Chris is sweet and deliberate and steady to Russ’s fumbly nervous eagerness, and when his hands slide down to the hem of Russ’s shirt and his fingers slip beneath the fabric and pause in a silent question, all Russ can do is grunt _uh-huh_. Chris exhales a laugh against his lips and pulls back enough to help Russ out of his shirt. Russ ducks his head, suddenly shy, and goes for the buttons of Chris’s shirt. Chris tilts his head back for Russ to kiss his neck, stretching up to let Russ touch as much of him as he likes.

“How did we never do this sooner,” Russ murmurs, between presses of his lips to Chris’s throat.

“Couldn’t tell you,” Chris sighs, pressing himself against Russ as soon as he shrugs out of his shirt, “but, man, I’m glad we are now. Get in the bed? You’re too tall.”

Russ obliges him, and they curl up towards each other, legs tangled together, kissing lazily and touching each other’s bare skin. Russ is absolutely getting hard, and he’s not sure where the line is, not sure if he’s allowed to press into Chris to see if he is too, but it turns out that he doesn’t have to make that move first.

“What are your thoughts on less clothes?” Chris whispers.

“Uh, very positive,” Russ says, and Chris laughs, delighted.

“Wanna take off your pants?”

“Hell yeah. You too?”

“‘Course.” Chris’s smile is the sweetest that Russ has ever laid eyes on. “Is, uh. Um. Is sex on the table, or nah?”

“Why, Chris! So forward!”

“Shut up.” He’s smiling; so is Russ.

“It is, yeah. But only if you’re into it.”

“Oh, trust me,” Chris growls, taking Russ’s hand and guiding it beneath the zipper he’s just undone, pressing Russ’s palm to the swell of his cock, “I’m very fucking into it.”

Russ swears and fumbles his own pants open one-handed as he crushes his lips against Chris’s, not wanting to stop touching him, not wanting to stop tracing the outline of his cock over his underwear, not wanting the agitated little puffs of breath he gives to calm. Chris helps him out, helps him peel his unwieldy legs out of his jeans, and then they’re on each other again.

When Chris rolls his hips to grind his cock against Russ’s, the sound Russ makes is louder than he anticipated and needier than he expected. Chris hushes him between kisses.

“If we’re gonna do this, we both gotta be quiet or we’re never gonna hear the end of it.”

“Good point,” Russ whispers back.

“Can I suck you off?”

“Yeah, fuck, yes, _absolutely_.”

Chris kisses his way down Russ’s torso, nips at the jut of his hipbones, before pausing at the waistband of his underwear. He looks up at Russ’s face and raises his eyebrows, a little smirk on his lips.

“Go for it.”

Chris hooks his fingers under the waistband to pull Russ’s underwear down past his dick, to his thighs. When Russ’s cock springs free, Chris breathes out a little _oh, wow_ that makes Russ burst into giggles in pure surprise and makes Chris’s hands spring up to cover his red face. 

“Oh my god,” Chris says, “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“Very flattering!”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“There’s a pun in here, I know it.”

“Please, for the love of god, don’t make puns at me when I’m gonna suck your dick.”

“I won't. Just this once,” Russ says, reaching out to run his fingers through Chris’s hair.

“Just this _always_.”

Russ blinks, biting his lip on the smile that comes to his lips unbidden. “You wanna keep doing this?”

“Fucking — of _course_ I do, Russ,” Chris says, rubbing his fingers over Russ’s inner thigh. “I didn’t think that was a very hard leap to make?”

“It’s not,” Russ says. “I’m just — I’m just really happy to hear that.”

“Me too,” Chris says, and crawls back up Russ’s body to kiss him again. They’re both thoroughly distracted by that until Chris reaches between them to wrap his hand around Russ’s cock. Russ practically yelps, his hips jerking up off the bed, and Chris drops his head to Russ’s shoulder, laughing. “Oh, god, you’re too cute.”

“You’re cute, you — you _asshole_.”

“What a sweet pet name.”

“Shut up. You want me to call you baby, baby?”

“I do, actually.”

“Alright, babe, if you insist,” Russ says, and pulls Chris in smiling for more kisses, as Chris works his hand on him slowly, drawing little sounds out of Russ, making Russ gasp into his mouth.

“I do insist,” Chris purrs, twisting his wrist on the upstroke. Russ moans and grabs at him in an attempt to hold him closer, but they’re already as pressed together as they can possibly be. “I’m gonna make you come, baby, and then you can do whatever you want to me.”

“Oh, god,” Russ sighs, dropping his head back, baring his throat to Chris. “That sounds perfect.”

“You’re perfect,” Chris says, and scrapes his teeth lightly over Russ’s neck before pulling away to appraise him. “Try and be quiet, okay? Griffin’s in the next room and he’ll give us shit for the rest of our _lives_ if he hears us.”

“I’ll do my best,” Russ says, knowing already he’s likely to fail, and already bracing himself for the teasing he can expect from his best worst friend tomorrow morning.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Chris says, and swats Russ on the thigh to get him to move where he wants him to be. Russ is more than happy to be wherever that is, especially since he knows, oh, he knows that as soon as they’re both comfy then Chris is, he’s going to — he’s going to lean down, just like that, yeah, and take Russ’s cock into his mouth. Russ presses his fist to his mouth, biting against the breathless sound he makes.

Chris winks at him, and he groans.

Yeah, there’s no way in hell he’s gonna be able to keep that promise — but, god, it’ll be worth it.

* * *

It’s unconscionably late by the time they tucker themselves out, by the time they’re just lazily kissing with no real intent, able to taste each other in each other’s mouth.

“Can I tell you something?” Chris says.

“Of course.”

“I’ve never been with another alpha before.”

“Neither have I,” Russ admits, and Chris laughs.

“Okay, wow, that makes me feel a lot better.”

“You’re perfect. Don’t even worry,” Russ says, and Chris hugs and hugs Russ tighter.

“So are you. God, who gives a shit about E3, I just wanna keep kissing you.”

“Do it, coward.”

“I’m fuckin’ _gonna_.”

They’re both smiling too hard to kiss properly, but that’s okay. They have hundreds and hundreds of kisses ahead of them, if Russ has anything to say on the matter — and from what he can tell, Chris too.

He closes his eyes and lets himself sink into the warm blissful feeling, sleepy and sated, and entirely full of affection, not even caring about the time that he’s gonna have to wake up tomorrow. Right now, he can afford some selfishness. Can afford to marvel at the fact that he has Chris in his arms.

Chris sighs, breaking the kiss, and scoots to tuck his head under Russ’s chin.

“I’m sleeping. Good night.”

Russ laughs quietly. “Good night, Chris.”

Chris makes a happy sound and snuggles closer. Russ holds him there and, still smiling, he finally gives in to his need for rest.


	3. align my heart, my body, my mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> simone/jenna time!!!!
> 
> title from [dust bowl dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sPSYuxVyf7E) which is otherwise fully thematically at odds with this piece LMAO

“Jenna,” Simone says, as she walks out to the living room the next morning, “we should probably talk.”

“So ominous,” Jenna says, setting her mug aside with a _clink_ on the coaster. “What’s on your mind?”

“I can’t be your girlfriend.”

Jenna blinks at her, tilts her head like she’s genuinely confused. “I know?”

Simone, in turn, is equally taken aback. “What do you mean you know?”

“I’ve heard you talk about being aromantic. I know you’re not looking for that sort of relationship.” Jenna pauses, looking for the right words. “And if you never want to repeat what we did last night ever again, that’s okay too. You’re my best friend, Simone. I don’t want anything to change that.”

For the first time since Simone tried to fall asleep last night, she feels like she can breathe. “You mean it?”

“Of course I do,” Jenna says gently. “I’d never push you into anything you didn’t want to do.”

“No, I mean — I’m your best friend?”

“Of course you are! I live with you and love you dearly and I’ve cried in front of you like a bunch of times, which basically means we have a bond forged in steel.”

Simone throws herself down on the couch to hug her.

“And — so we’re clear — the love I have for you isn’t — it’s not the kind I know you don’t want it to be. You mean the world to me, you’re my best friend and I don’t want to be without you, but there’s not an ounce of romantic sensibility in there.”

“How come you’re perfect?” Simone says, her throat tight. “I’ve never — I’ve never been with someone who just, who understands me like that, who didn’t look at me the next morning like they expect me to fall at their feet and decry my aromanticism. Like, oh my god, I can be aro and still want to fuck!”

“Hell yeah, you can,” Jenna says, tracing her fingers down Simone’s spine. “I had a nice time. I would love to do it again, if you were so inclined. And if you aren’t, that’s okay too!”

“I _am_ so inclined,” Simone says. “I just _worry_. I don’t want to — to lead you on or something. You mean the world to me, too, and I couldn’t stand it if I broke your heart over something I can’t help!”

“Simone,” Jenna says, touching her fingers lightly to Simone’s cheek, “I totally hear you, but also, I can promise you that’s not how it’s gonna go! I’m polyamorous, remember? I’ve had plenty of different kinds of relationships. I’ve been with aro people before. I — of course I’m not saying that all aromantic people are the same. But. I understand at least to some extent, and I’m not going to — to try and pursue something with you that you don’t want to pursue.”

Simone pitches forward to bury her face into Jenna’s shoulder, and Jenna hugs her tight.

“Can I ask what you are interested in? Like, in an ideal world, how would your relationship with me look?” Jenna says.

“Gosh, that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” says Simone, scooting up to press the bridge of her nose to Jenna’s jaw. “Cutting right to the chase.”

“I’ve been known to do that,” Jenna teases, scooping Simone’s hair into a ponytail, dropping it so it cascades over her back. “It’s good for you. Hard sometimes, yeah, but I’d much rather have a big conversation right off the bat about our expectations and assumptions, rather than sitting on it and suffering.”

“You’re so smart,” Simone sighs, fawning over Jenna, only half as a joke.

Jenna laughs. “I’m _right_, is what I am.”

“You are right. I, um. Okay. What do you want to know?”

“Anything,” Jenna says. “Whatever you’re comfortable sharing.”

“Okay,” Simone says again. She sits back a little bit, and takes a deep breath. Looks at her hands instead of at Jenna’s face. “I’d like to do that again. What we did last night, I mean. Regularly, maybe, or at least as regularly as my ace-spectrum ass wants to.” She gives a short huff of a laugh. “I love you. You’re my best friend. I really — man, this is sappy, but I really feel like I can be myself around you. Like you don’t expect anything from me other than what I am.”

“Of course, Simone,” Jenna says softly, tucking Simone’s hair behind her ear. “You’re perfect as you are. I’d never want you to try to be something you aren’t. I’m never gonna ask you for something you can’t give.”

“That’s impossible. You can’t read my mind.”

“Okay, so if I ask something you can’t give, then you can say no and I’ll drop it. I don’t want to pressure you into anything. I feel like — I mean, we’ve lived together for a long time now, but it makes sense if our boundaries change after this, you know?”

“Yeah,” Simone says. She wants to hide her face back against Jenna’s shirt, but Jenna’s still touching her cheek and she doesn’t want her to move. “God, Jenna, talking is _hard_. What about you? What’d you choose, if you could?”

“I’d like to kiss you again,” Jenna offers, “if that was something you were okay with. I want our relationship to be comfortable for both of us. I honestly don’t think there’s much I could ask for. I love being with you, and spending time with you, and if I may be so bold, I loved fucking you, too.”

“Oh my god!” Simone says, and Jenna laughs.

“I care about you a lot, Simone. That’s what I’m trying to say here.”

“I feel the same about you,” Simone says; she can feel her face burning. “I, um. I don’t know if it’s something you’re interested in, but, like, would having a queerplatonic partner be something that you’d be into? And for that partner to, uh, be me?”

“Simone! You’re so cute. I would love that,” Jenna says, and Simone swears her heart fucking _leaps_.

“You’re cute. So there. Do you really want to?”

“Of course I do,” Jenna says. “I was thinking about asking you — honestly, I’ve been thinking about it for a while — but I didn’t want to overstep or anything.”

“Good news!” Simone says. “We’re on the same page here.”

“Oh, good,” Jenna says. She’s smiling, brighter than the sunlight streaming through the window.

Simone cannot resist reaching out to cup Jenna’s face in her hands. “Can I kiss you?”

Jenna nods, still smiling, until Simone leans in to kiss that grin right off her lips. It’s not frantic or needy, not rushed; it’s sweet little tender presses of their lips until they’re both giggling into each other and have to stop so they can just hold each other.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Simone admits, as she shifts to fold her long leggy self into Jenna’s lap. Jenna kisses her cheek and wraps her arms around her waist. “I was just so _worried_ you’d take it romantically. And then you said, yesterday, you said, about how you didn’t think any of that has to be romantic and you looked at me the way you did…” She sighs, shakes her head, a little smile lingering on her lips, thinking of the conversation they'd had after that. “Thank you. For taking initiative like that.”

(Simone is _so_ thankful, because she never would’ve made a move without knowing for sure how Jenna would respond. Admittedly, she’s also thankful for Jenna riding her until she was begging, then until she was beyond words; for making Simone come so hard she left perfect bite marks on Jenna’s bicep as she bit down to muffle herself; for sitting on Simone’s face; for kissing her after; for falling asleep curled up sweet as anything in Simone’s arms.)

“Plausible deniability, but not too deniable,” Jenna says, grinning. “I wanted you to know I was interested if that was what you wanted, but like I said, I didn’t exactly know what the boundaries of what you’re comfortable with.”

“Yeah. I mean, like, they shift a little — being aro and on the ace spectrum is weird as hell sometimes — but, hey, what’s anything without a little confusion, amirite?”

Jenna laughs. “Exactly! We can figure it out together.”

“God, I’m so glad you’re you,” Simone says, hugging Jenna tighter. “This could have gone so badly in so very many ways.”

“Ugh, yeah, for real,” Jenna says, and Simone kisses her forehead. “I’m glad you’re _you_. I’ve honestly wanted this with you for a long time. I couldn’t imagine being romantic with you, you know? It’s just not the vibe I get from you. Like, obviously, since you don’t give that vibe… I’m not making sense, am I.”

“No, I think I get it,” Simone says. “I’m glad I don’t give off that vibe, honestly, ‘cause if I did, I’d be doing something wrong. I know it looks like I flirt with my friends all the time, and maybe I _do_ flirt with my friends all the time, but, like, it doesn’t mean I want to have some sort of — of romantic entanglement or something.”

“Entanglement. There’s a good word for it.”

Simone grins. “I’ll be entangled with you, but not romantically!”

“Ooh, how scandalous,” Jenna says, dropping her voice into a growl, her hands going to Simone’s hips.

“I’m nothing if not!” Simone chirps, and kisses her.

They’ll have plenty of talking to do later, too, Simone’s sure of it; it can be so hard to define such a nebulous concept as a queerplatonic relationship. It can so often look so different for every set of partners.

But right now, it’s simple. Right now, she wants to kiss Jenna, and Jenna wants to kiss her, and neither of them have unrealistic expectations about what those kisses mean, and that’s truly more than Simone ever thought that she could ask for. Especially with Jenna. Especially with anyone she loves as much as her, who she doesn’t want to fuck things up with, who she values so deeply and who she would do just about anything for — to discover that they align like this, that what she wants is what Jenna wants too…

It feels nothing short of miraculous, and Simone thanks all her lucky stars as Jenna licks at the seam of Simone’s lips, getting them to part against hers as she threads her hands into Simone’s hair.

“You’re beautiful,” Jenna murmurs against her mouth. “Do you wanna go back to bed?”

“Not really,” Simone admits.

“Okay,” Jenna says, and pulls back a little. “What are you up for?”

“This is fine,” Simone says. “I like this. But also, I could take you to brunch?”

“Ooh, I like that plan! I kind of want to shower first, though, if that’s okay.”

Simone bites her lip, looks at Jenna through her eyelashes. “Would you like company?”

“I’d love company,” Jenna says, delighted.

With the bathroom door closed behind them, Jenna pulls Simone in to kiss her, slow and lingering, to trail kisses down along her jaw, her throat, to the collar of her shirt. Simone’s hands go to Jenna’s waist, to slip beneath the hem of her shirt.

The way Jenna touches her is near-reverent, with soft lips to every new part of exposed skin, never pressing for more. It’s so perfect Simone could cry of it, could dissolve in Jenna’s hands, but for how Jenna’s touch keeps her grounded.

They don’t talk much, once undressed. Jenna guides Simone into the shower with a touch of her hand to the small of Simone’s back, and they trade off beneath the water, since it’s not exactly like tiny New York City apartment showers are exactly intended for sharing.

Even so, even a little chilly being out from under the spray, it’s not uncomfortable. They trade kisses as they reach past each other, touch each other with the same ease that they might touch their own selves. Being naked with Jenna is nearly as natural as being naked by herself, and there’s something so reassuring about that. It cements somewhere deep inside Simone that this is _right_, this is where she’s supposed to be, that Jenna is right for her and she is right for Jenna.

There’s no shyness and yet no flirtation either when one or the other of them needs to wash the more tender parts of themselves; they trade off tasks as if they’ve been doing this half their lives. Sure, their hands might fumble a little; sure, there might be things that they prefer to do of their own accord than to have someone else do for them; sure, they might giggle and blush and Jenna might shriek a little when Simone pinches her nipple just because she’s, like, right there and she couldn’t resist. Jenna dissolves into giggling as Simone cackles, and she presses Simone back against the shower wall to kiss her and kiss her and kiss her.

That’s about the point at which the water starts to get cold, and they rush to finish up, to wrap themselves in towels and scurry off to get dry and get dressed.

Simone takes Jenna’s hand as they leave the apartment, and the smile Jenna gives her in return warms Simone from the inside out. She never thought she’d get to be known like this, that someone would see her and understand her and want to hold her hand anyway.

Simone leans down to kiss Jenna’s cheek, just because she can, just because she’s gonna keep being able to, and holds that warmth inside her heart, hoping she never has to let it go.


	4. i got so much soul inside my bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from [oh wonder](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hu9pTGFjA4c) by ultralife.
> 
> the patbri chapter! takes place immediately after (kinda during, actually?) the inspired-by fic

When Pat wakes up the day after his heat, he makes a very sad pained sound and burrows his face against Brian’s shoulder.

“Hey — hey, baby, what’s up, you okay?” Brian says, alarmed. Pat wraps his arms around Brian and hugs him tight.

“Glad you stayed,” he says into Brian’s t-shirt, and Brian’s heart dissolves into little bitty pieces.

“Of course,” Brian whispers. “Of course I would.”

“I’m so tired. And I _hurt_,” Pat says, his voice pitching into a whine.

“Shit — where? Did something happen, are you —”

“Sorry. Wrong word. Just sore and worn out, ‘s all. How are you even a person right now.”

“No idea,” Brian says, running his fingers through Pat’s hair. “Can I do anything for you?”

“Don’t go,” Pat says, holding Brian so tightly that his fingers dig into his shoulderblades.

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” Brian says.

Pat gives a soft little _hmm_ sound, and falls back asleep.

When Pat reemerges from the bedroom, Brian’s eating a late breakfast, and he freezes with the cereal spoon halfway to his mouth when he sees him. He’s partially surprised by Pat's sudden arrival, but also, Jesus Christ, Pat looks _wrecked_. He walks tenderly like he’s sore; carefully like he’s remapping his body. He has vicious bruises down his neck, disappearing under the collar of his shirt, dark enough that no way in hell are they gonna be gone by Monday and which Brian feels bad enough about that he’s going to sponsor some makeup for _sure_. God. Upon further inspection, there are more bruises on him than just that: on his wrists from when Brian held him down to fuck him at some point; even more hickeys on his thighs, peeking out from beneath his shorts; there’s got to be more under his clothes, because Brian remembers putting his mouth on Pat’s hips and belly and swearing to leave marks that would _last_. Christ almighty. 

But Pat just smiles at him and slinks across the kitchen to sit down next to Brian. He seems more focused, this time, more present, but he still presses himself right up against Brian to nuzzle his face against the side of his neck like a particularly affectionate cat. Brian laughs and scritches at his hair, and he _siiiighs_.

“Hi, baby,” Brian says. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” Pat says. Brian can feel his eyelashes flutter against his neck as his eyes close. “How’re you?”

“I’m okay,” Brian says, and Pat pulls back a little to look at him. He studies Brian with all the intensity he’s ever seen; his eyes roam over Brian’s face, and then he moves back a little further still to look at the rest of him. The bite marks that are the companions to Pat’s. The way he outwardly looks a helluva lot less of a disaster than Pat.

“Is something up?”

“Nah,” Brian says, and tears his eyes away to finish his last couple bites of cereal, but Pat leans forward in an attempt to keep eye contact.

“Brian.”

“I’m fine, I swear, I promise, it’s nothing I didn’t freak out about in front of you already —”

“What is it?”

“I just can’t believe I fucked you up so bad,” Brian says, pushing his chair back and making a beeline for the sink without looking at Pat.

“Brian,” Pat says again, softer. “I _asked_ you to.”

“Did you even like it!”

“Of _course_ I did,” Pat says, vehemently, enough so that it makes Brian turn. “And we both know I could fuckin’ carry you out of this apartment and dump you on the pavement if you were doing something to me that I didn’t want you to do. But I loved it, Brian, I honestly did.” He pauses, looking alarmed. “Did _you_ like it?”

“I did!” He’s making too much of a racket, restless and anxious, clattering the empty bowl and the spoon around, but he needs something to do with his hands so he doesn’t bite his nails down to the quick. “I did, okay?”

“Why are you upset?” Pat’s voice is even, calm. “Are you upset that you liked it?”

“_Fucking_ — of course I am, you heard all that shit I said to you, I didn’t — I didn’t _know_ I was into that. I sounded so — so — the exact fucking way I didn’t want to, talking about, god, talking about _breeding you_ and how you’re _mine_, like, what got _into_ me —”

“It’s normal, Brian. What are you doing?”

“Making you breakfast,” he snaps, and then shrinks back into himself. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m just tired and a little freaked knowing all this shit about myself that I didn’t know before. I d-didn’t know it was going to be like this.”

“You’re — are you crying?”

“I’m not!” He twists his head to wipe his face on his sleeve. “I’m not.”

“I can see you with my eyes.”

“Pat, please,” Brian says.

“Okay. Talk to me, then. Tell me what’s going on instead of taking it out on those poor eggs.”

“It’s just. I was just.” Brian sighs heavily, and stares up towards the ceiling for a moment. Blinks a few times. “I didn’t think it’d — that I’d feel so out of control. Is that always what it’s like?”

“You get used to it,” Pat says. “Or at least, get used to not being used to it. That’s the best heat I’ve ever had, because _you_ were there. I’ve never been able to share it with someone before. You have no idea what it’s like alone. Which — fuck, I’m not saying that to say I’ve got it worse, or anything, because I don’t think that’s true. I think it’s terrifying the first time, no matter how you put it. My first heat was horrible. I think I spent most of it crying. I don’t blame you for being freaked out.”

Brian rubs his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I just — it was so hot, right, but now I’m like — I’m like, holy shit, what did I _do?”_

“You remember it, right?” Pat says, concern in his voice.

“‘Course I do. I mean, more like… Patrick, don’t make me spell it out for you, you were there too.”

“Yeah, no, I got you. It’s a lot! Of course it’s a lot, it’s that way by design. But I — I don’t think less of you for it, or anything like that. As far as I was aware, we were on the same page, but if you didn’t, like — if you weren’t okay with something we did, please tell me, I don’t ever want to do it again.”

When Brian glances over at Pat, Pat’s looking right at him, his eyes wide, and if Brian didn’t have the stove on, he’d drop everything to go hug him. “No, nothing like that,” Brian says softly. “It’s just, hah. Just gotta reckon with some new discoveries about myself.” He shakes his head. “Lord, I didn’t think I was the type — I mean, for goodness’ sake, I can’t imagine _ever_ wanting kids, why the fuck does — I have no business being into the idea of knocking you up.” He clears his throat, feeling his face heat up.

“The heart wants what it wants, and so does the dick,” Pat says sagely, and this of all things finally makes Brian laugh. Pat looks no small amount relieved. “I don’t think I actually want to be pregnant. I definitely don’t think I want to be a parent. I dunno, Brian, but it doesn’t have to have some deep explanation. It’s, in a technical sense, why heats are a thing. You’re allowed to be into stuff like that, even if it seems stereotypical. Like, shit, hello, did you _see_ me? You don’t have to feel guilty for anything more than I do.”

“You’re right, and I know you’re right, and I still feel like an ass anyway.”

“Well. I like your ass. So there.”

Brian laughs as he slides the French toast onto a plate and delivers it to Pat. Pat catches Brian around the waist and rests his cheek against his ribcage.

“I love you, and I loved fucking you, and I’d like to do it again. Not, uh, not necessarily in a being-in-heat sense, and that only happens once a year anyway — um. What I’m trying to say is. Are we, like. Are we a thing now?”

“Of course, Pat,” Brian says. “Of course, if you want to be.”

“I really do.” Pat pushes his face against Brian’s sternum. Brian runs his fingers through Pat’s hair, and feels Pat sigh and relax into him.

“Then absolutely.”

“Hell yeah,” Pat says, muffled by Brian’s shirt, and Brian can’t help but laugh.

“Eat your breakfast, you dork. We’ve got cuddling to do. Also I was thinking we should probably go to the store, and —”

“Let me eat my fuckin’ breakfast before you talk errands at me,” Pat says. “I’m not emotionally prepared.”

“I was just gonna say that we should probably pick up something to cover those bruises and _prooobably_ a pregnancy test.”

“I think there was one in the box we got.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Okay, _dad_.”

“Daddy to you,” Brian says, glib, hopping to his feet. He grins down at Pat, who stares at him, eyes wide. “What, you like that?”

“Are you even surprised at this point?” Pat huffs, and Brian giggles his way over to the haphazardly emptied cardboard box in the middle of the living room.

“Not really! We’ll see how that one lands next time,” Brian says cheerfully, producing his prize and returning to hand it over to Pat. “You need anything else? Want some fruit or something? I guess you probably don’t have anything other than those overripe bananas over there, it’s been too long since either of us left the house — ooh, we could make banana bread though — what are you looking at me like that for!”

Pat laughs. “Now who’s nesting?”

_Oh, shit_. “Oh, shit, I — I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, am I doing another stupid alpha thing, I’m probably doing another stupid alpha th—”

“It’s cute,” Pat says, tugging Brian over by his wrist. “C’mere and kiss me.” He doesn’t wait for a reply before he reaches up to pull Brian into a sweet sticky syrupy kiss. “I don’t mind those things, babe. Does it bother you from me, if I do stuff like that? Nesting and whatever?”

“No,” Brian pouts. “I know it’s a double-standard. I just — fuck, Pat, you had me in bed not a half-hour and you told me I could do whatever I _wanted_ to you. And I _did_. And it freaks me out to know that you’d give me that much power when we hadn’t even talked about it.”

Pat tugs Brian down until he collapses into his lap. Pat strokes Brian’s hair, and is quiet for a long moment before he speaks. “I’m sorry for coming on that strong,” he begins.

“No, you — you don’t have anything to be _sorry_ for. I just — I’ve never done this before, and I’m so scared of fucking it up. Especially with you. I don’t want to fuck up with you.”

“We’re both gonna fuck up. That’s inevitable. But I promise you, promise promise promise, that you were so good. _Are_ so good. And that I’m not gonna bail the first time that happens. Okay?”

“Okay,” Brian mumbles. “I’m sorry for freaking out on you.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for either, sweetheart. Thank you for telling me what’s going on.”

“‘Course. I love you.”

“I love you too. Now get off me, you’re making my legs fall asleep, and I gotta go take care of this.” Pat taps the little box against Brian’s back, to convey what he means.

“You’re nice to hug, though,” Brian complains.

“So are you, but it’ll be better when we’re comfy and don’t have more things to worry about. Don’t make that face, oh my god, there’s no fucking way I’m pregnant, it just doesn’t happen like that. We’re not gonna have anything to worry about. And then we can cuddle more, and do your errands or whatever. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect,” Brian says. Before he can move away, Pat kisses him, slow and lingering, a direct counter to near everything they’ve done so far this week.

Brian’s dazed when Pat pulls away, a little smile on his lips. “There’s more where that came from,” Pat says, his fingers dancing over Brian’s cheek. “Just gimme a few minutes.”

“Anything you need,” Brian says. The smile he gets in return makes the corners of Pat’s eyes crinkle; it changes his whole face, lights him up like sunshine.

“I just need you, baby,” Pat says, which is so romantic that Brian could keel over, until he adds, “and also _seriously_ my thighs are asleep you have the boniest ass in the world please get off of me?”

“Way to wreck the mood, Patrick Gill!” Brian says, finally obliging him.

“It’s my specialty.”

Brian shakes his head, smiling, and can’t help but lean up for another kiss. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

“I love you too. Affectionate motherfucker.” He’s smiling; it’s gotta be a compliment. “Go snuggle up somewhere, I’ll be right there, I promise.”

“You better!”

“You know me, I always come on time,” Pat says, and winks as Brian doubles over laughing, before disappearing down the hall.

God, Brian loves him.


	5. i am flesh and i am bone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from [glitter & gold](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S9k0Ofub9Zk) by barns courtney
> 
> thanks to the disco for the truly terrible jokes i could not do this without you and also would not have written this sequel without you (you know who you are)

_Awful Squad_ is always a little bit horny. That’s a fact that’s stood since the beginning of time, and will continue _ad infinitum_. They did an episode where Brian and Russ’s characters went on a date, for chrissakes, and as a unit they’re always diving headfirst into _yes, and_-ing with double entendres.

So Pat shouldn’t, honestly, be surprised, when Griffin’s driving the two of them in a PUBG boat and Pat’s trying to use boat terms and says, “Uh, I think it’s going about two knots?”

He really shouldn’t be surprised when Griffin _cackles_ and says, “Just how I like it!”

When Pat sputters, Griffin doubles down: “Huh, Pat? You and me on a two-knot journey?”

Pat’s pretty sure the choked sound that comes out of him in reply is the exact same one that Brian, across the room, makes at the very same moment, but it’s inaudible under Simone’s laughter.

“Oh my _god_, Griffin,” Pat finally manages, which sets the hooligans back off into gales of laughter. When Pat glances up, he meets Brian’s eyes; Brian is looking back at him with the most pointed eyebrow raise Pat’s ever seen, a silent question: _do you need me to_ deal _with this?_ Pat gives a quick, dismissive shake of his head. It doesn’t bother him; this is Griffin’s shtick, the pretending-to-be-an-aggressive-alpha bit, because he’s truly one of the least intimidating people Pat knows. It’s a fun jumping-off point for comedy, because it’s so absurd coming out of him, but Pat totally gets why it gets Brian’s hackles up anyway.

They’ve been together less than a month, now, and even though the two of them are genuinely, honestly compatible, there’s still some deeply-ingrained things that are hard to shake, and Brian looks like he’s about two seconds from pistols at dawn or a dance battle or something. He’s gotta diffuse this.

“Sounds like a swell time,” Pat drawls, as the giggling dies down, and Simone gives a delighted shriek of laughter, collapsing against Pat’s side. Even Brian chortles at that one. The chat, in the corner of the screen Pat and Simone are facing, goes from yelling _GRIFFIN_ to yelling _PATRICK_. Oops.

Pat would assume this was just an _Awful Squad_ thing, except it continues. Never too pushy, just stupid shit, and Griffin’s funny — talking about _coming out on top_ with a tone that Pat basically can hear the wink in, and Pat laughs and volleys back with a _you wish!_

“Are you sure he’s not bothering you,” Brian says, at Pat’s apartment after work, rubbing his cheek against Pat’s like he’s trying to mark him with his scent — ah.

“I’m sure he’s not bothering me. Is it bothering you?”

“No? Yes? Maybe? I dunno. It’s not like he’s being like that to you all the time, and it seems innocuous enough, I just — if you’re uncomfortable…”

“I’m not, baby, promise. I can tell him to knock it off if you’re upset by it, though.”

“No, it’s —” Brian covers his face with his hand, and Pat pries it away.

“Oh my god, are you _blushing_ —”

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up, I just — does he know we’re dating? Is he _actually_ hitting on you? Or is he hitting on both of us? That two-knot thing, I mean, holy shit, right?”

“I’m sure it was just ‘cause of what I said,” Pat says. It is a weak defense, because he’s been wondering the same exact thing.

“Still,” Brian says.

“Still,” Pat agrees. “Is that — what’re your thoughts on that?”

Brian’s hand returns to his face, to bite at his nails, and Pat tugs his arm away again to get him to cut it out. “Uh,” says Brian. “I-I’m not, like, opposed.”

Pat grins and pulls Brian in close. “Is that so?”

“Wh — are you — are you into it?”

“If I could have both of you, I _would_,” Pat says, ducking his head to graze his teeth over the side of Brian’s neck. Brian shivers and holds Pat tighter. “But only if you were completely okay with it.”

“I like him too,” Brian whispers, like a secret. “I just don’t want to push it.”

“I know. Me neither. But, hey, if we’re both on board,” Pat says, hands sliding down to untuck Brian’s shirt, “there’s no shame in feeling that way, right?”

“I don’t know what crazy scheme you’ve got in mind,” Brian says, as Pat trails kisses over the exposed skin of his neck, “but I’m into it.”

“Nothing too fancy,” Pat says cheerfully. “How’s your dirty talk?”

“Um, fucking great, excuse you, you know this.”

Pat laughs. “Dealer’s choice, then. What would you wanna do, if Griffin was here?”

Brian’s eyes light up, and he grins. “Oh, you don’t even know, baby.”

“Show me,” Pat challenges back. Brian shoves him gently, and Pat takes off, Brian at his heels, chasing him into the bedroom to tackle him onto the bed, both of them giggling like mad until they’re kissing, and the sounds between them become less laughter and more breathless little sounds of desire.

It comes to a head when Griffin’s in town, naturally.

Griffin’s friendly; he’s tactile and goofy and enthusiastic, in a way that’s truly not unlike Brian. He puts a hand on the back of Pat’s chair to look over his shoulder at his monitor; he leans on Brian’s shoulder like he’s an armrest, even though they’re basically the same height; he elbows Russ in the ribs when he says something particularly absurd. It’s impossible to tell, with him, what’s flirting and what isn’t, because he acts the exact same to Pat as he does towards Brian, to Russ and to Chris, to Simone.

Hold the phone.

Does Griffin think he’s — 

No _wonder_ he makes jokes at him like — god, it’s so inappropriate for an alpha to say some of the things Griffin says to an omega, but Pat likes not being treated like he’s made of glass for once in his goddamned life. He flies under the radar well enough, because he doesn’t like to make any sort of production about it, but to be swept unquestioningly into that group is, it sure is, it’s —

Well, it’s not to last, as it turns out.

Griffin’s helping Pat with a project in one of the little recording rooms, the ones with a mic and that fit two people and a camera and that’s about it, and Pat’s supposed to be trying to think of something to say in this part of the script except for the fact that his brain has fully stopped functioning while this close to Griffin. Embarrassing as shit. He’s not usually this flustered, but Griffin is all up in his space due purely to the size of the room and he smells so good that it is distracting and it’s warm in here and they’ve both wandered off-topic.

“No, oh my god, it’s so stupid, right, like Rach and I are both alphas and that fuggin’ — one of those heat delivery service places? Applied for an ad slot on _Wonderful!_? Like, I mean, cool, I’m sure it’s a great service, but I’m not sure either of us are going to be the best to advertise it?”

“I mean, it’s not like it’s not good for alphas too,” Pat says absentmindedly, searching through his notes for a bit he _swears_ he wrote down. “Brian and I got one during my last — _fuck_.”

His papers fall out of his hands in an intentional commotion, trying to cover up what he all but said outright, but it doesn’t work even a little. Griffin’s on a full fucking face journey, coming to the exact realization that Pat was hoping he wouldn’t. The one about how completely gross the things he’s said to Pat on and off their livestreamed shows could be to the wrong person with the wrong sensibilities, if his joking posturing was taken as genuine, especially given the power dynamic inherent in their positions at Polygon. The knowledge that had made Simone mutter to Brian when she didn’t think Pat could overhear, “The fuck, are we gonna have to call _HR?_ On _Griff?”_ Brian had waved her off, told her to cool her jets and that Pat said it was fine; Simone had made a doubtful sound and Pat had skedaddled before they turned the corner and saw him.

The understanding that makes Griffin burst out with, “_fuck_,” and then fit as many apologies as he can into one breath, “I had no idea holy shit I’m so sorry I’ve said so much shit that was so out of line oh my _god_ I’m so fucking sorry Patrick I’m so sorry man I am so sorry —”

“Shut _up_,” Pat says.

He’s never told Griffin to shut up, not in that tone, and especially not while Griffin’s freaking out, but Griffin is so startled his jaw snaps shut and he stares at Pat wide-eyed, like he’s, _god, fuck, goddamn it_, like he’s _afraid_ of what Patrick’s going to say next.

“Hold your goddamn horses,” Pat says. “Don’t treat me different now, what the _fuck_. I’m still the exact same person I was five minutes ago.”

“But I—”

“You are my _friend_, Griffin, my very good friend who says a lot of crass bullshit all the time and doesn’t mean a lick of it. I’ve never felt threatened by you, and it was — it was, like, nice, to not be tiptoed around for two seconds. I didn’t know you didn’t know, and it _still_ didn’t bother me. But I can’t fucking stand that I absentmindedly mentioned having had a heat and the entire way you behave towards me changed in a fucking _second_.”

Pat draws a breath. It comes more shuddery than he’d like for it to be, out of something between anger and anxiety, but god is it ever hard to hold back thirty-odd years of resentment when it boils over like this.

“I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at society,” Pat says, his voice tight. “I don’t _want_ you to treat me different, Griffin. I’m not some fragile thing. I can take what you dish out, and I like it. This is why I don’t tell anyone what I am. Because I can’t stand to have people completely change the way they interact with me, once they know. And — and the thing is, I _like_ you, Griffin. But I’m not even going to try anything unless you change your tune.”

“I’m so sorry, Pat,” Griffin says, in a very small voice. “I’ve only ever been with other alphas. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” says Pat, his heart plummeting past his feet, more than a little embarrassed, more than a little humiliated, for hoping, for reading into — “Gotcha.”

“I — I mean, like,” Griffin stutters, talking fast, “I’ve only ever dated alphas. I didn’t even think I could be into anyone else, I wouldn’t know where to start and _fuck_ that’s the exact same garbage you just called me on and I’m sorry, Pat, I’m so sorry.”

He can’t even be angry. He’s just _tired_. All the fight in him is gone; all it’s left behind is an icy slush of sadness that courses through his veins. He takes a step back, his back brushing against the wall. “No harm, no foul,” he says faintly, even though all he wants to do right now is curl up into a ball and cry about how much absolute fucking garbage it is that first of all being an omega makes him get treated different and second of all, to add insult to injury, fully disqualifies him from Griffin’s affections.

“Pat — Patrick, wait, I — I’m not — just ‘cause I’ve only been with alphas doesn’t mean I’m not willing to — if Brian’s okay with it — Rachel’s cool with it, I — I do want you, and I don’t — I just — I’m scared I’m gonna keep fucking up. You don’t deserve that shit.”

Pat’s traitorous heart leaps. “Are you willing to work on it?”

“Yes, of _course_.”

There’s no windows in this room, and just one door, and there’s nothing, nothing at all to stop Pat from stepping up to Griffin and kissing him, fierce and hungry. It takes only the barest of moments for Griffin to kiss back, yielding to Pat, except that what Pat wants is to be shoved against the wall and made out with. When Pat doesn’t push back when Griffin pushes him, though, Griffin clearly doesn’t know what to make of it, his hands fumbling, body tensing like he might pull away.

None of that, thanks. Pat grabs Griffin’s hips, one hand sliding around to palm Griffin’s ass, continuing to kiss him like there’s no tomorrow. “What I like has nothing to do with me being an omega,” Pat growls, low, against Griffin’s jawline, “but I do like to be pushed around.”

“Jesus Christ, Patrick,” Griffin breathes. “You’re perfect.”

Pat smiles before he drags Griffin in again, before Griffin slides his thigh between Pat’s to give Pat something to grind against even as he rolls his hips hard against Pat.

“Can we — _oh_, Pat, can we,” Griffin gasps, like he doesn’t even know what to ask for but he wants it so bad anyway.

“Come home with me,” Pat says, low and rough. “With us. Brian’ll get your head on straight.”

“Okay,” Griffin whispers. “Yes, absolutely. Let’s do it.”

Pat laughs, breathless. “God, if I were any more brazen, I’d let you fuck me in here so I could feel you inside me the rest of the day.”

Griffin outright _whines_, and Pat grins, filthy as he knows how to.

“Guess it’ll have to be some other time. That’s a shame. Come on, Griff, we gotta finish our work before we can play.”

“I hate you,” Griffin sighs, almost dreamily.

“You don’t.”

“I don’t. Fuck, I want you so bad.”

“Better get to work then, huh? Sooner we finish up here, the sooner we can grab Brian and jet. Right?”

“Right,” Griffin says. There’s practically hearts in his eyes.

Pat can’t _wait_ to get him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! comments and kudos are always always appreciated ♥

**Author's Note:**

> every other day as per tradition ;p


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